


The Benefits of Morning Sex

by batty4u



Series: An Idiot's Guide to a Higher Education [7]
Category: The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Masturbation, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batty4u/pseuds/batty4u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orgasms were wonderful sleeping aids. Seriously, Clint could not remember the last time he had slept so well. Between the orgasms (yes, plural, a fact he was going to rub in Tony’s face) and Bruce’s perfect bed of plush, he had slept an easy ten hours and could have probably slept more if he was given the chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Benefits of Morning Sex

Orgasms were wonderful sleeping aids. Seriously, Clint could not remember the last time he had slept so well. Between the orgasms (yes, plural, a fact he was going to rub in Tony’s face) and Bruce’s perfect bed of plush, he had slept an easy ten hours and could have probably slept more if he was given the chance.

He figured he could actually; Bruce hadn’t tried to wake him, other than the mutual morning sex wakeup call a few hours earlier. Morning sex was great, Clint had realized, maybe even better than regular sex, because there was something warm and cuddly about it. That was an awful way to describe it but with his face buried in the plush pillows, Clint didn’t care. It was that non-existent sappy heaven everyone in lifetime movies talked about, and it was his.

He shifted, rolling slowly to the warmth at his side, his face pressing into a solid, warm lump in the covers. He heard a soft chuckle and what he hoped was Bruce’s hand ruffled his hair.

“Good morning.” Fuck, his sleepy voice was sexy.

Clint opened one eye and looked up. Bruce was sitting up against the head board, books on his lap, a pad of paper clutched in his hand, glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

“You’re working, in bed, on a Saturday morning,” Clint murmured. “Are you human?”

Bruce laughed. “It’s not easy being a professor.”

“But it’s Saturday.”

“I have nothing else to do.”

“You could do me.”

“Clint!”

He wrapped his arms around Bruce’s chest and pulled himself over, head resting in his lap. “You could though.”

“You won’t be able to walk.”

Clint giggled, god he actually giggled. “I’m sure I could manage. It’d give me an excuse not to leave. This bed is fucking perfect.” He sighed and nuzzled Bruce’s bare chest. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven.” His fingers were toying with Clint’s hair again and pleasant shivers ran through him. He loved it when people scratched at his head. Tony had teased him for it, but Bruce did it like it was something natural.

“Ew.”

“Ew?”

“I’m supposed to be at Tony’s around one,” Clint said. “We have lunch, the whole group, every Saturday. Or we try to.”

“You should probably get up and shower, then.” Bruce was smiling down at him. Clint shook his head, his hair tickling Bruce’s skin. “No?”

“Too comfy.”

“Clint-”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Tony will probably come looking for you if you don’t show. You’re phone went off a couple of times.”

“He can fuck off.”

Clint whimpered as Bruce bent over him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “This won’t be the only morning we wake up together.” He set down his notebook and hooked his hands under Clint’s arms, pulling him up so that his head rested in the crook of Bruce’s neck. “If you have plans it’s alright.”

Clint kissed his neck. “But you’re so comfy.”

“And I’ll still be here when you come back.” Bruce tilted his head up so he could kiss him, slow and drawn out, tongue working its way into his mouth, Clint squirming in his arms.

“That’s not fair,” he whined, pressing up into him. “Not fair at all.”

“You should shower.” Clint grumbled into his neck. “Clint, come on.” More grumbling and Bruce sighed. “Clint,” he said in a low voice, the one he used in class and Clint stilled. “It’s probably best you go shower and we eat something.”

Clint blinked up at him through his lashes and smiled, hips sliding until he was straddling Bruce’s legs, arms snaking around his neck.

“So how big is this shower of yours?”

*

That warm, fuzzy feeling all those chick flick movies said someone gets when they start falling in love was slowly working its way into Clint’s chest. Well, if slow was more or less like a bullet train crashing into his ribcage, then yes, slow. He’d been confused at first, figured it was just the after effects of really good sex, because what were the actual chances that you started a relationship with a onetime fling? Bruce should have been a onetime fling. He’d fucked his teacher in his own office; that never wound up as the starting point for a relationship.

And yet apparently it was. Because Clint was sitting in the passenger seat of Bruce’s old truck, holding his free hand, eyes closed and for the first time in months, he was happy.

He was turning into such a sap.

“Where do you want me to drop you off?” Bruce asked.

“Uh,” Clint looked around. They were only a few blocks from campus. “The front entrance I guess?”

Bruce nodded. They were keeping it secret, they had to. Well they probably didn’t have to but it seemed like a good idea. They didn’t want Bruce’s job being jeopardized and Clint did no need to be bitched at for sleeping with- dating, he corrected himself- his chemistry professor. Clint would have loved to go parading around showing Bruce off, but the back lash that was bound to come with it seemed too painful at this point seeing as they’d only had one date and slept together only… four times? Clint wasn’t sure. The pleasant ache from their shower was still there and it was probably one of the reasons Clint was grinning like an idiot, fingers entwined with Bruce’s.

They’d come out about it eventually. Clint knew he couldn’t hide it from everyone forever. And he didn’t want to. Why would he want to hide someone he was-

God did had he really fallen that goddamn fast?

The truck pulled up by the front entrance and Bruce shut it off, giving Clint’s hand a squeeze. “When do you want to-”

“Tomorrow?” Clint asked.

Bruce laughed. “Lunch on Monday?”

“That’s not tomorrow.”

Bruce brought Clint’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “Monday. Lunch. My office.”

Cling sighed. “Oh alright.” He pulled Bruce closer and kissed him. “Monday.”

He didn’t want to pull away, or get out of the truck or walk away as Bruce waved to him, or stand there as Bruce started the engine and drove off. He didn’t but he did, because Bruce was right about Tony pitching a fit and people probably finding out and Bruce had those stupidly pretty eyes you didn’t say no to.

Monday? That was too far off.

*

Someone was pounding on his door. Tony groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. Fucker could wait until a decent hour before pounding on his door. But they kept right at it and Tony thought he heard Thor calling him. What was Thor doing in his apartment? Had everyone spent the night or something?

Tony reached out and patted the mattress next to him. No Steve.

Damn.

More pounding on the door.

“Tony? Tony? Are you deceased?” Thor called.

“No.”

“Oh good.”

“Do away.”

“Pepper, Jane and I are getting groceries. Would you care to join us?” Thor had lowered his voice and stopped abusing his door.

“Do I have too?”

The door creaked as Thor peaked inside. “Are you well?” Tony shook his head, face pressed into the mattress. “Do you need aid?”

“No.”

He listened as Thor maneuvered his way across the room to him and knelt down. “What troubles you?”

“I dunno.”

“Are you ill?”

“No.”

“Sad?”

“Maybe.”

Thor made a comforting sound and rubbed Tony’s back. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

Tony shook his head again.

“Very well. Rest then. The girls and I will be back shortly.” Thor gave his shoulder a squeeze, the warmth from his massive hand comforting, and left, closing the door softly behind him.

He was beginning to like the hulking blonde man-dog from Norway.

Tony sighed and rolled over onto his back, staring up at his home-made stars. He and Steve had fallen asleep under them, or he had. Steve had probably left once he realized he was asleep. God Tony wanted to die, he had fallen asleep! What kind of fucked up noob falls asleep with-

No, no, no, no. he was NOT going there.

Steve was a nice guy.

That was it.

He was not, under any circumstances, developing feelings of any kind for Steve Rogers.

No.

No he wasn’t.

He didn’t think about his smile, or the pretty light blue of his eyes.

He didn’t think about his height, about how strong he was compared to tony.

He didn’t think about the fact that he was start quarter back, that he worked out shirtless, or that he had a very impressive set of pecs and abs.

No. Tony didn’t think about that at all.

Steve probably had a girlfriend anyway. What with his good looks if he didn’t it’s be a travesty. Tony sighed and put a hand over his eyes. He probably took her out to cheesy restaurants and bought her flowers, treated her like a goddamn princess. Probably touched her like she might break under his touch, light fingers running across her skin.

Oh god.

Tony shook himself.

He wasn’t doing this.

It was Steve.

And yet.

It was Steve, Steve who had given a shit, who had helped him, who had apparently slept next to him during his hell sent nightmares.

Was that how you started falling in love?

Bullshit, this was his life. Tony Stark didn’t fall in love. He didn’t deserve love. You could have all the sex you wanted and not be in love. So maybe he wasn’t falling in love. Maybe he just really, really, really needed to get laid.

He tried thinking about the girls he had seen in the past couple months, about the one or two guys he had made out with. He’d never made it far with them, but it had been nice. Though the most recent, fucktard Ken, had kind of ruined the whole “make out with guys” shtick he’d had going.

Steve wouldn’t be that rough. No, Steve would probably hold him with a lighter grip, his fingers in his hair, hand on his chin. He wouldn’t hurt Tony, he’d be slow, gentle, murmur words of encouragement and not insults and vulgar slurs. Not that Tony minded the rough side of sex, it was kinky and he was kind of a kinky bastard. But there was something so foreign about being touched like he was important, being held and petted and kissed like he was going to vanish and every moment had to be cherished.

“Fuck.”

Tony grabbed for Steve’s jeans and buried his face in them. The smell was still there, the rich musky smell of spiced deodorant and Steve’s skin, a hint of Tony mixed in there. He breathed it in deeply, face pressed into the worn denim.

This was pathetic.

Tony wiggled out of his boxers and slipped into the jeans, the denim rubbing against his quickly hardening cock. He groaned, slipping a hand down under the waistline, fingers toying with the head as he tried to keep the scent fresh in his memory. His free hand fumbled for the lube under his mattress.

He tried to picture someone else, but Steve’s face kept showing up, his hands running over him, eyes dark, lips pressing to his hot skin. Tony moaned as he gripped his cock and started a slow, teasing rhythm.

He shouldn’t be doing this. This was pathetic, beneath him. He was Tony Stark, he could have anyone if he tried. But he was laying there, whimpering in another guy’s jeans, eyes clamped shut as he imagined Steve’s tongue sliding down his chest, hands gripping his hips as he took him in his mouth.

Tony stopped stroking himself just long enough to get his fingers lubed up before starting up the rhythm again, slowly picking up speed, the pull now slick and easy, his head tilting back as his hips, still trapped in the denim, thrusted up into his hand.

“oh god, s-Steve,” he heard himself moan, his free hand inching lower between his legs, slick fingers pressing lightly against his hole. He teased it, running a finger slowly around it before sliding it in, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. It didn’t hurt anymore, not like it used to and it didn’t scare him anymore either. It felt good, the digit pushing in and out to match the hand on his cock. He squeezed his eyes tighter and took a deep breath, sliding another finger in.

It was Steve. Steve was leaning over him, lips on his ear as his fingers forced their way slowly inside. That’s all he had to think about and it didn’t hurt.

The denim of Steve’s jeans added to the friction on his cock, drawing soft whines from him as he bucked into his hand, riding his two fingers. Steve was pushing into him, murmuring soft words of love, or maybe just dirty little images into Tony’s ear, his hips rolling against him, hands gripping his sides, moans slipping from him as his scent filled Tony’s nose. Tony’s hand tightened on his cock and he sped up, hips arching off the bed, head thrown back.

“s-Steve, Steve, oh god g-gonna-”

His whole body shuddered and he tried to catch as much of his cum as he could so the stain on the jeans wouldn’t be permanent. He pulled his fingers out, slowly, wincing at the emptiness. He should have gotten up then, gone to the bathroom and cleaned up, put Steve’s jeans away and gone to the kitchen for coffee.

But he just lay there, eyes closed, breathing heavy as he let the after effects of the orgasm roll through him. His eyes opened at a soft sound from the door way.

Clint stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, wearing his best ‘I’ve-got-shit-on-you’ grin.

“So who’s Steve?”


End file.
